


Stan Uris Doesn't Take A Bath

by Sovvie118



Series: Askpolylosersclub Oneshots [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), College, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:29:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovvie118/pseuds/Sovvie118
Summary: Stenbrough oneshot where Stan is stressed from work and Bill makes him feel better. A tiny bit of sexting if you squint.This fic is paired with the blog askpolylosersclub@tumblr.com and is related to an ask that Stan answered about a moment between himself and Bill that he remembers. The blog is run by The Losers' Club as young adults at college and they are in an established, polyamorous relationship (OT7) and live together.





	Stan Uris Doesn't Take A Bath

Stanley Uris is in a foul mood. It’s just after six P.M, it’s already dark out and he’s currently sitting in the back seat of a questionably clean taxi cab being forced to listen to Z100 New York on the radio. It’s cold outside and there’s rain spattering against the window close to his head, the sound of which is infinitely more relaxing than the crackling in and out of some new R&B song that he doesn’t care to know the name of.

He’s just finished a shift at work at the Barneys store on Madison Avenue, where he spent the best part of seven hours spritzing rich, middle-aged women with a new selection of perfumes with names like ‘Room Service’, ‘Smoke Show’ and ‘Dirty Velvet’. Each bottle costs close to $250, more if you get it gift wrapped but he still managed to rid himself of no fewer than thirty six of the gold-labelled boxes during the course of the day. Since he works on commission, he supposes that all of the thinly-veiled flirting and the steadily building headache from the fumes was worth it in the end.

He loosens his collar a jot, carefully un-popping the very top button on his shirt. It’s pristinely crease-free and starched, which is how he likes to keep it, but on long working days he usually ends up with a rather uncomfortable red line around his neck where it touches him. Rubbing at his temples briefly, he digs in his pants pocket for his phone, sliding it out and taking a quick look at the screen when it lights up. There’s a pretty photograph of a Bluetit in the background. 18:09, the white digits on the face of it read.

He knows that Bill will be the only one home right now; it’s a Monday, and this is the day that Bill has a single class in the morning and then the rest of the day free. The thought that it will just be Bill and himself when he gets home eases a little of the stress in his shoulders. Bill will understand that he’s had a tough day and switch into that mode that he has where his voice gets all soft and soothing and Stan knows that if he acts extra tense he’ll probably get a backrub or something out of it, too.

Unlocking the phone with his thumb print, he brings up the messages, entering Bill’s name into the top and then typing out two simple sentences.

**‘Heading home now. Rough shift.’**

He hits send before tucking the phone carefully back into his pocket. It’s darker out, now, and the rain on the window is blurring the passing street lights. The radio is now playing some sort of sappy love ballad but Stan isn’t really paying attention to it enough to know what it is. He feels sort of drained but at the same time there’s a tension that he just can’t shake. A soft vibration against his thigh indicates Bill’s reply to his text and he slides his phone back out of his pocket to hold it in his lap.

**‘Want me to run you a bath?’**

Stan can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips as he shifts to get more comfortable in the car seat before tapping out his response.

 **‘You know I don’t like baths.’** He pauses for a second before adding **‘Just really want to see you,’** and hitting send.

He doesn’t put his phone away this time, instead keeping it held in front of him as he waits. It isn’t long before Bill’s next message comes through, lighting up the phone screen in the dark of the taxi.

**‘Wanna see you too. Been home by myself all day.’**

He’s about to reply when there’s a sudden follow-up beneath it.

**‘Really bored’**

It’s closely followed by another text: a simple emoji with a look of exasperation on its face and Stan lets out a brief, involuntary half-chuckle at the sight of it. Unable to help himself, he starts typing again and hits send before he can really think it through. He watches his own speech bubble appear in the text area.

**‘I’ll be home soon to entertain you.’**

It sounds as if there’s a hidden implication behind it and he’s not sure if he meant it to sound that way or not. Although the thought of it does send a little spark of excitement through his chest. Maybe this is just what he needs after a long, hard day at work.

 **‘What are you gonna do to entertain me?’** comes Bill’s too-fast reply and Stan stares at the screen for a while. He doesn’t know why, but he glances at the back of the cabbie’s head and slouches further into his seat as he starts to type again and sends another response. It’s almost like a rapid-fire back-and-forth after that.

**‘What do you _want_ me to do?’ **

**‘For starters we could get you out of those work clothes’**

**‘And then what?’**

**‘Then I’m gonna make you feel better’**

**‘How are you going to make me feel better?’**

**‘By fucking the stress right out of you’**

Stan stares at the last text for probably longer than he should, feeling his mouth go a little dry. Bill usually isn’t one for the dirty talk, since he can’t string a sentence together when he’s aroused, but clearly over text it’s much easier for him. He starts to type a reply, erasing it again shortly after and re-reading Bill’s message two or three more times. It’s not like him to get visibly aroused in public, thankfully, as if he did he’s sure that his dress pants might be getting a little bit tighter at this point, but there’s a definite tension spreading through him like a tight coil, deep in the pit of his stomach.

He’s not even sure that he knows how to reply to it. Of course he could tell Bill that he wants that, but it might come off sounding a little needy and Stan is a lot of things, but needy is not one of them. As he’s thinking it over, his phone vibrates again and he looks to see another message from Bill beneath that one.

**‘Nobody else is home.’**

He waits for a follow-up, an explanation of some kind but there’s none. In a way, it’s better. It suggests something but leaves the rest up to the imagination.

The rest of the taxi ride, be it only about five minutes, is absolute torture. The tension and anticipation in him is slowly building; he can feel it in his chest, tightly wound like a spring. When the cab pulls up in front of their house he gives the driver a twenty dollar bill and exits without waiting for the change. As the car pulls away and the street becomes empty, he feels his excitement peaking. He’s carrying a leather satchel over one shoulder and it swings against his thigh as he approaches the front door and reaches for the handle. He’s going straight for Bill’s room when he gets in, that much is clear.

The house is dark when he gets inside, but that’s normal. Bill usually sits up in his bedroom when he’s alone at home and doesn’t bother coming to turn on any other lights. Stan almost trips over a pair of Richie’s enormous boots as he enters the hallway but he kicks them aside, nudging them into position against the wall and out of the way with a polished, black dress shoe that couldn’t be more of a contrast. He makes a mental note of it so he can lecture Richie about it later when he comes home.

It’s eerily silent as he carefully hangs his bag on a hook near the front door. There’s a neat, white label above it that reads ‘Stanley’. None of the other hooks are labelled but they are all in use by what seem to be multiple people’s jackets, bags and scarves in a mismatched array. The one labelled ‘Stanley’ only contains Stan’s satchel. It was empty before. He nudges his shoes off his feet while he’s there, reaching down to place them beneath his own hook where there’s a space against the wall between Richie’s boots and a small-ish pair of pristinely white sneakers which can only belong to Eddie. There’s a pair of red converse nearby which he knows are Bill’s and he looks at them for a little while, at how the laces hang outside of the shoes onto the floor and the spots of mud and grass stains that ring the soles. He carefully tucks the laces inside before heading into the lounge.

He barely makes it through the lounge doorway, however, before he’s being pressed up against the wall by what he eventually realises to be Bill’s body. In the dark, at first, he was almost frightened, and he can feel his heart thumping hard in his chest as Bill’s lips come in to meet his. There’s adrenaline coursing through his veins, now, that’s for sure, although it only adds to the sexual energy of it as he comes back to his senses and smells Bill’s cologne. He bought it for Bill himself on Bill’s last Birthday –there’s no way Bill would ever buy himself something that expensive- and it’s deep and woody and warm and Stan loves it. He breathes in deeply as they part for air and Bill immediately goes in for his neck. Nimble fingers release more of the buttons on his shirt until it can be pushed a little way off his shoulders, and he feels a hot tongue on his skin. It’s strangely soothing to the red marks left by his starched collar.

“You scared me,” he breathes into the dark of the lounge and Bill only chuckles softly against him. There’s a brief silence as Bill’s lips pull away and Stan is almost worried that that was it. He’s ready to be disappointed, and certainly prepared to voice his complaints until suddenly, Bill’s hands go under the backs of his thighs and he’s being hoisted up against the wall. Bill’s body goes against him again, holding him in place as he comes in for a deeper kiss, this time.

He realises then, with some bliss from the organised side of his mind that loves preparation, that he can taste peppermint and that Bill must have recently brushed his teeth, maybe while he was waiting for Stan to come home. Weirdly enough, it’s that thought that really turns him on and stirs his body into producing a reaction. His dress pants are stretched taught over his thighs, now and it’s a little bit uncomfortable but the notion of Bill being able to lift him up against the wall so easily, when Stan is six feet tall is overtaking anything else.

He sinks into the kiss, meeting Bill’s tongue with his own when their lips part. He feels Bill’s teeth against his bottom lip at one point and that stirs something in him again and suddenly his pants do feel kind of restrictive. Bill seems to be sensing this, too, and his hands drop to Stan’s belt, relieving him from it almost expertly quickly at this point. He undoes the button and the zip, too, before diving in again on Stan’s neck to trail wet kisses along the pale column of it.

Both of them are quickly too agitated to stay there simply kissing and Stan is relieved when Bill finally sets him down and drags him by the hand, upstairs to Bill’s bedroom. There’s a light on inside, seemingly the only one in the house. They barely make it through the door, leaving it wide open in their confidence of being home alone, before Bill rounds on Stan again and pushes him down onto the desk. It’s usually a complete mess of paper and pens and art supplies but it’s void of any of these things and Stan is strangely aroused again by Bill’s preparation and forethought as he props himself onto his elbows. He watches patiently as Bill stands between his thighs and tugs at his waistband to get the dress pants off him, although he eyes him dangerously when he seems like he’s about to throw them onto the floor until Bill folds them to hang them over the back of a chair instead.

Bill is on him again soon after as Stan sits upright to meet him in another kiss, eagerly tugging Bill between his thighs. The desk is just at the right height for their lips to meet easily with Bill standing and Stan sitting.

“Y-you still feeling stressed?” Bill breathes lowly as their mouths come apart again. They’re the first words Bill has spoken to him since he got home and hearing his voice after so long tightens the coil in Stan’s abdomen. All he can do is nod in reply as Bill crushes their lips together again and starts to work on the rest of the buttons on Stan’s shirt. He tugs it to his elbows, exposing his chest and stomach and Stan is sure that Bill is going to get his lips on him. That’s what he would usually do now, as he seems fascinated by Stan’s body and loves to appreciate and fawn over him. But he only removes his own shirt; it’s an ugly, black and red plaid thing that’s all crumpled and has paint stains but thankfully Stan doesn’t have to look at it for long as it’s dropped to the floor and he gets the beautiful sight of Bill’s thin but toned abdomen instead. He watches him discard his jeans, too, eyeing the rather prominent bulge in his boxer shorts that makes his mouth water just a little. Bill sees it and comes in close to him again, noses brushing and eyes meeting.

“See something you w-want?” he whispers against Stan’s lips and their eyes stay locked as Stan reaches between them to touch him, watching the way Bill’s eyelids flutter just slightly and hearing the subtle change in his breath.

“I want this,” he states matter-of-factly, rubbing his palm down and loving the fact that Bill’s blue eyes go a little hazy, “Put it in me somewhere.”

One of Bill’s hands comes up to the edge of the desk beside Stan’s thigh as if he needs to steady himself just from hearing Stan say something so dirty, but he knows that he’s losing face, so he pulls Stan’s hand away and presses him back down against the desk, ridding him of his underwear and socks and leaving him naked.

He doesn’t speak again, like Stan is hoping he will, but knowing Bill it’s probably because he doesn’t think his stutter is sexy and gets embarrassed about it. Stan thinks that it’s plenty sexy, maybe even more so than someone without a stutter, and he’s reassured Bill of this plenty of times before but it never works.

He does, however, reach into the bedside drawer near the desk to take out a bottle of lube, noting the fact that Stan watches him as he squirts it over his fingers. He knows that Stan is _very_ partial to having something inside him. Knows that it’s one of the best and quickest ways to get him off. He takes his time circling his fingers over Stan’s hole before finally pushing one in, all the way, until it can’t go any further. He watches the tension in Stan’s stomach, the slight curl of his toes, the way he swallows thickly as if his mouth has gone dry. Bill knows that this would be a good time to say something really hot, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Put another one in,” Stan grinds out, voice a little strained, and Bill immediately does as he’s told, forcing a second finger in next to the first. There’s more of a stretch but Bill knows that Stan does this himself, that he’s used to the feeling of it and that he can take it and he pushes both fingers as deep as they’ll go, now, settling them inside him. If he wriggles his fingers a bit, he can feel the lube between them, and vaguely wonders if he used too much.

Stan’s fingers grasp fruitlessly at the smooth wood of the desk as Bill starts to move his fingers in and out. He wants to lift his head to watch what Bill is doing, but it takes a lot of effort and he’s still tired from work and, if he’s honest, he really just wants to be taken care of right now. Thankfully, Bill seems to sense this, too. He moves closer to the edge of the desk, leaning against it with his free hand so he has some leverage to work better with his fingers. He picks up speed faster than he usually would, keeping his eyes mostly fixed on Stan’s face to try and read what he wants, and what he wants right now seems to be a good, hard, fuck.

Bill doesn’t find Stan’s prostate with his fingers this time. He’s sure that he could, given a little bit of time, and usually he would keep going until he did. Sometimes, watching Stan gasp and moan and feeling him press down as he fucks him with his fingers is the best part, in Bill’s opinion. He could leave everything else, including his own pleasure, for another time. Right now, though, Stan seems to want more than just some fingers, and he grows steadily more impatient until Bill removes his digits and he’s taking out a condom from the same drawer he got the lube.

He watches Bill open the packet, watches him push down his boxers and slide the condom onto himself and the way he ever-so-slightly bites at his lip when his hand is around his cock, watches him coat himself with some more lube. When he gets closer to the edge of the desk again, Stan shifts onto his elbows, eyeing Bill’s torso hungrily with anticipation. To his surprise, Bill pushes him back down with a firm hand on his chest. Their eyes meet briefly as he feels a hard heat at his entrance and he waits expectantly for Bill to push in. It doesn’t happen.

“Bill-” he starts, but he’s cut off as Bill’s hand moves up from his chest and there’s a finger against his lips. He feels the head of Bill’s dick start to push past the first ring of muscle, and it stings but it’s so good and he keeps their eyes locked, expecting more of it. Just as he’s really readying himself for the rest, though, Bill pulls back out slowly, leaving it resting against him, hot and teasing and so close.

“Bill. Fuck me,” he breathes against his finger, feeling it pull at his bottom lip as Bill drops it back to his chest to hold him down. It sounds like an order, really, and it doesn’t work in his favour this time. Bill does the same thing again, pushing just a little bit further in this time before pulling out and it’s simultaneously so irritating and so fucking hot that Stan can only look at him, now. He knows how this works, this teasing; he’s done it enough times to Bill to know that. Bill has never been teasing to him until now, though. He’s always just so eager to please.

He wants to complain, to tell Bill that if he doesn’t fuck him right now he’s going to leave and take care of himself, but he _really_ wants it. Each time Bill’s cock pushes into him it gets a little bit further, a little bit deeper, and it’s so hard and hot that his own fingers just couldn’t compare, now. Bill keeps up this teasing for much longer than Stan thinks he will be able to, even, at one point, pushing in so deep that their hips touch and Stan actually can’t help it and he lets out a moan, but Bill still pulls back out again. Stan is sure that this couldn’t possibly have the effect that it’s having on him, this torturously slow grind, but it’s like he can feel everything so much more. Each time Bill pushes inside, it seems to hit him in all of the right places, and it lingers for so much longer than usual. He doesn’t think he could actually come like this, but it’s definitely working him up.

The next time Bill thrusts into him, it’s a little bit faster, and he can’t help himself. He wraps his legs around Bill’s waist as tightly as he can to stop him from pulling out again, seeing the vague amusement on Bill’s features as he realises what he’s doing. Bill’s hands find their way onto the desk either side of him and he leans down into Stan’s space.

“I thought you were gonna fuck the stress out of me,” Stan breathes, his voice coming a little shakier than he would’ve hoped. Bill hears it and a smirk twitches at the corner of his lips. He has a familiar, playful glint in his blue eyes that Stan recognises immediately. He still doesn’t say anything but one of his hands moves and then Stan feels it between them, wrapping around his own forgotten erection. He’s actually painfully hard, now, and he’s always been sensitive. Bill knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Bill…you know that…that hurts…” he says. His voice is strained with the effort of not making any sort of sound, especially when Bill ignores him and starts to gently pull at his cock right near the tip. There’s still some lube on his fingers and the movements are wet. He was right, it does hurt, right on the wrong side of the pleasure/pain barrier but that’s exactly what Stan likes. He doesn’t realise that he was lifting his head until the back of it hits the desk with a soft thud and he can’t stop his back from arching. He barely manages to swallow down a moan.

He can feel Bill’s eyes on him, then, as annoyingly strong hips start to rock him against the desk in the same rhythm that Bill always has. Stan would never admit it but it’s the only kind of non-rough sex that he likes, because Bill seems to manage to get it so deep that it hits him right where he wants it anyway, even if it’s slow.

The hand on him has stopped moving now but it’s still there, and when Bill starts up a harder, faster rhythm, each thrust makes him rock into Bill’s closed fingers in just the right way. His head is back against the desk and his eyes are shut but he can still sense that Bill is watching him and there’s something highly arousing about it.

When he opens his eyes, he’s right. Bill is close over him and the thought of being fucked against Bill’s desk combined with those striking eyes burning right into him is too much and it’s enough to draw a gasp out of him, at the very least.

“That’s not good enough,” Bill says, lowly and without stuttering, although there’s a strain to his voice. Stan feels hands grip at his thighs to pull him closer to the desk edge and then Bill is moving away. He keeps a tight hold on Stan’s body as he uses his hips like Stan really knows he can, fast and hard and so good that Stan actually can’t even _think_ of a witty comeback, let alone speak.

He briefly wonders when the others might be coming home and remembers that they left the bedroom door wide open. He looks over to it briefly, to the dark of the hallway, but Bill doesn’t like Stan’s attention being elsewhere and he feels a firm hand on his jaw, turning him back.

“Look at me,” Bill orders, voice low and quiet and Stan can’t believe how turned on he gets just from hearing Bill use that tone with him. It certainly sends him closer to the edge, especially with Bill fucking him so hard that the desk is thudding against the wall repeatedly. He’s getting close to his prostate now, too. It’s unintentional, as it usually is with Bill; his enthusiasm and general charm makes up for his lack of experience completely. Stan isn’t a moaner, or loud during sex at all, usually, and it really takes something like this to draw anything out of him. It’s pulled out of him this time by a particularly hard thrust that hits his prostate dead on, and it’s louder than he thought it might be and he even shocks himself with it.

“Oh, fuck-” he drawls, dragging his nails across the desk briefly before he realises what he’s doing and stops himself. He wouldn’t want to leave marks there even if it is in Bill’s room and not his own. Bill doesn’t seem to care at all about his desk, and he places Stan’s hands back there himself with an amused look on his face.

“You afraid to g-get a little messy?” he smirks, voice thick with lust and a little shaky. When Stan moves his hands away again, Bill takes one of them into his own and lifts it to his own mouth to bite at his palm. It’s something that Stan had never really considered being sexy before, but Bill moans against his skin a little as he continues to fuck him. The pleasure is building and building, to a point, and right when Bill bites at Stan’s thumb, then one of his fingers, and then draws the finger into his mouth to suck on it, Stan can’t take it anymore and he comes hard with a deep moan.

Bill fucks him through it, hard and fast, until Stan is pushing against him and telling him to pull out. He does as he’s told this time, watching as Stan sits up to pull the condom off him and gets a hand around his cock. He’s clearly eager to watch Bill come, and he gets close to his face, slightly damp curls resting against Bill’s forehead as he moves his hand fast and tight, just like he knows Bill likes it. Bill’s fingers are gripping the edge of the desk, now, knuckles white with the strain, but he moves one of them onto Stan’s bare thigh as he gets close.

“Are you gonna come?” Stan asks quietly and he sees Bill flinch and hears the low groan it draws from his throat as he nods. “Tell me,” Stan says, as an afterthought, as he tightens his fingers, “Tell me you’re gonna come.”

“I…” the rest of the sentence gets caught in Bill’s throat, so Stan slows his hand, tightening his grip at the base of his cock to stop him from coming so quickly.

“Tell me, Bill. Say it.”

“I’m…I’m g-gonna come…” Bill stutters out quietly against Stan’s lips and Stan starts to move his hand again quickly with a brief ‘good boy’. He holds Bill tighter against him as he comes, enjoying Bill’s breath against him as he moans open-mouthed. The majority of it ends up on Stan’s stomach, which is just what he wanted.

He places a slow, tender kiss against Bill’s lips after and Bill chuckles against him.

“D-did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“Are y-y-you still stressed?”

Stan shakes his head with an amused smirk, curls bouncing slightly as he does and Bill leans in to catch his lips again.

“W-want me to clean up?”

Not one to say no to an offer of someone cleaning something when he's too tired to do it himself, Stan chuckles out a ‘yeah’ and watches Bill fondly as he wipes them both down and picks up the various items of clothing around the room.

They take a shower together after and by the time they’re properly clean and redressed, sitting in the lounge watching TV as if nothing happened, Ben and Bev are just walking through the front door. Stan’s head is resting on Bill’s shoulder and Bill is lazily playing with his hair. By Stan’s request, there’s a nature documentary about birds in the Amazon rain forest playing on the television.

 

Stan decides that he might text Bill about being stressed more often.


End file.
